


Miscommunication (a 5+1, plus a 5+1)

by Anonymoose12



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Letters, Love Confessions, M/M, Military AU, Miscommunication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-28 11:24:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2730665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymoose12/pseuds/Anonymoose12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Bucky tried to write to Steve, and one time he thought he succeeded<br/>Then there were the five times Bucky thought he wrote to Steve, and one time he actually did. </p>
<p>(It makes sense I swear)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unsent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Are 5+1 things still a thing? I haven't seen any in a while, but then I'm reading different fandoms to what I used to. Regardless, this is a 5+1 plus 5+1. So a 10+2? I don't know. 
> 
> Five times Bucky tried to write to Steve, and one time he thought he succeeded.

1:  
Dear Steve,

How are you? Are you well? Still alive? Hah- of course you are you big strapping hulk of a man. God I miss you. I'm ok. I guess. Shit. This letter was supposed to be a happy one- about how you and our mates our going, and about how your family is (They're well- missing you of course) but I've already fucked up. Let's try again.

2:  
Dear Steve,

How are you? Still alive? Hah- I should hope so, you with your Dorito shoulder-waist ratio. You're not allowed to die, with a body like that. God, that sounded more sexual than I meant- not that I'm not appreciative of your body- just. I'm rambling. Sorry. I really miss you. I miss your stupid Dorito body and your fucking floppy hair and the way you smell and fuck.

3:  
Dear Steve,

How are you? How are the others? All still alive I hope? If they're not then, well, I guess say something over their graves for me or whatever. That sounded soulless- sorry. I care of course, but I've never been any good with emotions. Fuck Steve. You know that. Remember the first time you told me that you liked me as more than a friend? I do, with a great deal of embarrassment. I didn't know what to do- you were standing there, looking like a hopeful puppy, with your stupid blue eyes all worried, and you'd just told me- in a softly confident voice- that you 'cared for me a great deal'. I thought I was about to vomit with nerves and fear and excitement. I'd loved you- fuck. I'm not saying the L-word to you for the first time in a fucking letter while you're fucking fighting and I'm fucking sitting at home. Fuck.

4:  
Dear Steve,

How are you? I walked past a shirt you'd really like at the shops today, and almost bought it. But then I realised you might have changed sizes (what with your muscles and all) and that I won't see you again for months. Try and get leave sometime soon yeah? I can meet you somewhere if that's easier? I just really fucking want to see you. You haven't seen me without my arm yet, have you? I went to get a prosthetic fitted today. It's top of the line posh- metal and sensors and shit. It took fucking ages to fit too. I almost fell asleep, I'm so fucking tired these days. Nightmares are shit Steve. Shit I didn't mean to write that. fuck fuck fuck fuck.

5:  
Dear Steve,

How's things? So much for 'til the end of the line' huh? I left you over there because I couldn't fucking take proper fucking care of myself. Got my stupid fucking arm shot and left you over there by yourself. Fuck. I'm sorry Steve. I'm so fucking sorry. I fucking miss you so fucking much. I'm in fucking love with you. Fuck. I'm so drunk.

 

+1  
Dear Steve,

How are things going over there? I hope everyone's ok. Say hi to the guys for me. I'm going alright over here- getting a prosthetic arm fitted. so that's good. Your family says hi- I had dinner with them last night. They seem well.

Hugs and kisses,  
Bucky


	2. Sent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five times Bucky thought he wrote to Steve, and one time he actually did.

1:  
Dear Steve, 

Thank you for your last letter-I'm glad to hear everyone's going ok. I miss you all. But things here are good: getting used to my arm, finding a flat, learning to cook. That new arm I told you about? I've been offered a special new sciencey one- motion sensors, full control, the works. Only downside is that it'll take a few months, and will be metal. 

Hope you're not getting sunburnt,  
Bucky

 

2:  
Dear Steve, 

How’s things? Hot I bet! It’s pretty cold here, what with winter and all. Natasha’s started putting chili in hot chocolate, which is very her, and very nasty. Which is very her as well I suppose. We miss you, and hope you get leave soon! Say hi to the others for me. 

Bucky

 

3:  
Dear Steve, 

I’m glad to hear the others are all doing well! I can’t imagine Harry as a father, but I’m happy for him and his wife- although his poor wife is stuck with twins, whilst he’s over there. God, can you imagine? I know these letters are short, but I’m trying to deal with a bunch of stuff here- learning to use my arm, putting up with Natasha, not getting shot at, not having to worry about IEDs when driving, you know- really difficult stuff. 

Miss you,  
Bucky. 

4:  
Dear Steve,

Nat finally convince me to read those Harry Potter books. Not bad, surprisingly. You’ve read them- what did you think? I mean, there were a few inconsistencies, and I rather think there’s a few rather nasty things that aren’t dealt with very well. Which is concerning for a kid’s book I guess. What books have you got over there? Any new ones since I left? What about films?

Bored,  
Bucky.

5:  
Steve,

There’s a new Thai restaurant on the corner. It’s nice. You’d like it. They do a mean Pad See Yew. My doctor’s finalized my arm, so I’m fully capable now! It’s pretty swanky- feels like a real arm sometimes. The sand’d fuck it up though- glad I’m not still over there, with sand in every orifice. How’s it treating you? Bet you’re looking forward to having one orifice in particular sand-free! Heh. 

Feeling horny,  
Bucky

 

+1:  
Dear Steve.

In your last letter you said you were frustrated with my letters. They were short and sparse and not enough. You think I’m not telling you everything, and Christ- you’re right. I’ve written you so many bloody letters. Most didn’t make it to you- they were too much. 

Christ Steve. I fucking miss you. And I didn’t want to make you hurt, and I didn’t want to make myself hurt anymore than I already do. Because I hurt, Steve. I hurt bad, and it’s probably selfish ‘cause you’re the one still fighting, but that’s why it hurts me- I’m sitting here useless while you’re over there, always so close to dying. I can’t even use my fucking left arm. It’s weird to be back home without you. And without my arm as well. But mostly without you. I miss you so fucking much.

You know that place we used to go for coffee and bagels on Sunday morning? I can't remember what it was called anymore, but it's shut down. There's a 7-11 there instead. I can't use the fucking slushie machine with only one arm. Well I can, ‘cause I’ve got my prosthetic now- but it's really fucking hard otherwise. You'd laugh. It'd be a warm sunshiny laugh that'd light up your eyes. I'd scowl and tell you to go fuck yourself. You'd laugh again, then push me out the way and get them both yourself- Passionfruit for you, plain ol' coke for me. Then you'd smile softly at me, eyes crinkling, dimples popping, hand me my slushy and then lean down for a kiss. Now it’s just me and my plastic arm and people staring at me. 

That’s the worst thing Steve. I’m not whole anymore- you’re not here, and my arm’s not here. You’ll be back (fuck you’d better be fucking back, if you die I will fucking kill you) but my arm won’t. People either stare or overtly ignore it, and they treat me like I’m useless. I’m a gay cripple, Steve. Sounds like the start of a c-grade movie.

‘James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes is broken- in both his heart and his body. Will his long-distance lover and war hero Steve Rogers be able to fix him? Or will the hatred and fear of the masses overcome their star-crossed love? Find out in this tale of war, survival, discovery, and love.’ 

I crack myself up. I’m really not as bad as I sound Steve- I laugh occasionally, and Nat makes sure I leave the house and shower. I’m even looking for a job! Speaking of Nat, she’s met a person. A lovely person who I shan’t tell you anything more about because I think Nat’d rather tell you herself. 

Sigh. They’ve made me think. In one of my un-sent letters I mentioned how we first met, and I said how I’m not good with feelings. You know that Steve, but there’s something else I want you to know. I don’t really want to write it right now, but I need you to know. You were the first of us to admit that you wanted more, and I need to be the first to admit this.

I fucked up that first time- you standing there just having admitted you ‘cared for me a great deal’ and me thinking I was about to vomit. I wish I could have said something suave or witty, or at least kissed you. Instead I stood there like an idiot, whilst your face slowly fell. But then you were about to walk away and I grabbed your arm and tried to say I liked you too, it was ok, but I fucked up and just stared at you. I thought I was going to die, but you laughed and hugged me and it was ok. 

I’m not going to fuck up this time. Steve, I really care for you. A lot. What I want to say, I need to say- I don’t want to write. It starts with an L and rhymes with glove. And I’ve said it before in the context of a glove. Hehe. I’m pathetic at pillow talk ;). But yeah- I think you know what I mean, and I’d really appreciate it if you could call me next time you’re able. I want to say it aloud, to you. And then I never want to stop saying it. I want to say it when we meet at the airport when you’re on leave, I want to say it affectionately when you’re being silly, I want to say it when we wake up in the morning, I want to pant it when you’re inside me, I want to sign off all my future letters with it, heck I even want to use it passively-aggressively when we’re fighting. I big-L you Steve. Now I’ll have that Roxette song stuck in my head all day. Damn. 

Stay safe you big Dorito. 

Yours always, 

Bucky.

**Author's Note:**

> I think the formatting might be a little confusing... sorry! If anyone has suggestions about how to clarify things, then that'd be swell :)


End file.
